He thought I was beautiful.

So he held my hand.

The sun was beating down on my skin, filling my senses with warmth. I smiled as I laid in the green field, filled with luscious grass and white clovers. The blue sky was full of white, fluffy clouds: it was a picture-perfect day.

"Max?"

I didn't open my eyes as I murmured a gentle "hello" in return.

There was a slow movement as the strawberry blonde boy laid next to me in the open field. There was enjoyable silence as I simply listened to the birds chirp and the wind whistle.

"What are thinking of? Right now?" He finally asked, breaking the quiet.

I sighed, and rolled over to my side. The grass tickled my bare arms and legs as I faced the handsome boy. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And it's simply wonderful."

He nodded, his pale blue eyes watching me, but not seeing.

"And you?" I asked, as I rolled back onto my backside.

His long fingers intertwined with mine as he whispered, "You. Always you."

And I smiled, closing my eyes once more.

He thought I was beautiful.

So he made me my favorite foods.

I sat up in my bed, feeling disgusting. My hair was all tangled and I smelled like sweat and blood. The swollen bruise on my face was killing me, my head was throbbing, and my split lip still stung. I sighed hopelessly and threw on a t-shirt and sweatpants. Then I hobbled down the stairs.

"Mornin', Max," Iggy said happily as I walked slowly into the kitchen. The smell of eggs and buttered toast filled my senses, luring me closer. But once the scent of bacon hit me, all the events of the previous night were forgotten and I sighed a second time, this time lustfully. He was making my all-time favorite breakfast this morning.

He just chuckled. "How are you feeling?"

"Ugh. About as great as I look."

"Oh, so you're feeling beautiful?"

A rosy blush rushed to my cheeks. "You can't even see me," I muttered, looking away from his sightless eyes.

"But you're always beautiful, Max," he told me. Then, he turned back to the stove, nimble hands preparing my favorite breakfast. "Bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches for breakfast."

My stomach rumbled, and he laughed.

He thought I was beautiful.

So he picked me flowers.

"Where's Max?" Iggy asked as Nudge flipped through the television channels lazily.

"Um, I don't know. Her room, I guess. She's in there quite a lot now."

Iggy bounced up the stairs without another word, his mood considerably lighter just because he got to be with Max. He clutched the bunch of flowers in his hand as he strode into Max's bedroom. "Hey, Max."

"Go away," she whimpered, wiping her red and swollen eyes. "I want to be alone."

"I know it's hard," he stated, sitting carefully on the edge of her bed. "But I want you to feel better, so I picked you some flowers."

He smiled a boyish grin as he revealed the bundle. At first, there was silence. Max stared at the bunch in Iggy's hand, but finally the silence broke as she started laughing.

"Um, glad I could make your day better!" He grinned wider.

She reached out and carressed the many blades of dead grass and the yellow heads of dandelions he'd picked for her. "It's lovely, Iggy. Thanks."

He thought I was beautiful.

So he didn't give up.

"Why won't you go away?" I screamed. "Why can't you see that I don't want you to love me?"

The tall boy, almost a man in age, straightened his posture, but didn't speak, letting me continue my ranting.

"Iggy, you and I weren't meant to be!"

"So Dylan says," he muttered.

"Well, I say it too!" I huffed stubbornly.

"Max, we weren't meant to be. We just happened."

I frowned as I watched him stare at me, his eyes full of a twisted love.

"Why do you love me?" I asked, voice hard.

He sighed. "Because I do. Does there have to be another reason?"

I threw my hands in the air, at a loss for words. "Iggy, we can't- I can't- I won't! I love Dylan!"

"No you don't!" He yelled. "He only wants you to think that! He was programmed to love you, Max."

I stayed silent, because I knew it was true. Dylan wasn't even a real person.

"I've always loved you, from the heart."

I stared at him for a while, breathing heavily. The empty house became suddenly very, very quiet.

He approached me slowly, gently taking my hands. I wanted to protest, to hit him, to make him go away. It wasn't right. But something inside of me made me want to stay. I wanted to be close to him, to let him touch me, to feel his hot breath on my face.

"Max," he breathed. "I will always love you, and I will never, ever stop fighting. Not until my heart stops beating."

I didn't cry. But I wanted to. Instead, I stayed silent.

"Do you hear that?" He took my hand and placed it on his chest, right above his heart.

"What?"

"Our hearts, beating together as one."

He thought I was beautiful.

So he died for me.

And as I look into his lifeless eyes, tears pouring out of my eyes, sobs racking my chest, I know one thing.

I will never be beautiful again.